Writer's Block: Paranormal activity
Tell us a ghost or supernatural encounter you’ve experienced.
I live in a very small town in northwest Indiana and have, in fact, lived in this same town since I was three.  When I was seven or so, my father bought a house and we moved in. I couldn't tell you if anything happened then. If it did, I don't remember it. A few years after this, we moved into his girlfriend's trailer, even though we still owned the house. At eighteen, we moved back. You can imagine his girlfriend as the wicked not-quite-step-mother who overstepped her bounds.
Now, being from a small town in Indiana means that I was raised in a rather no-nonsense way. We don't go to doctors unless we're dying; if we can't fix it, we probably know someone who can; and if something weird happens, it's because "you let the devil in." That cuts down on arguments considerably, as you might imagine. People don't like admitting they're wrong, so when you're about to prove them wrong, they pull out "you let the devil in." But there's a cure for that, and it, too, is often found in Indiana--blunt honesty. It comes in many forms: "Just because I'm making you look stupid doesn't mean I let the devil in. It means you're stupid," or, "Stop being such a self-righteous prick." I've taken blunt honesty and made it my own. I am renowned for being both socially unskilled and unwilling to suffer fools lightly.
A week or so after having moved back into our house, I started getting the feeling I was being watched. As I come from a long line of paranoid individuals, I checked the windows once or twice and shrugged it off. I didn't quite apply the same dismissal when friends refused to stay the night twice and one reported that she'd spent the whole night awake because she was freaked out by the feeling of being watched. I told my father, but he ignored it until eventually, he snapped at me that I was "letting the devil in". I gave him a look of absolute disbelief and made it a point to stay elsewhere when possible. Soon, I discovered why, however. He nearly begged me to come back. He said he missed me, but he looked more than a little frightened, and I remembered that the feeling of being watched was particularly notable when I was home alone. It likely didn't help that about this time, things had worsened and while we were in other rooms, we could hear stuff being dropped or even thrown in the kitchen. One time, I even heard glass breaking. Oddly, there was no broken glass in the kitchen. There was nothing on the floor any of the times we checked. While this merely amused me, it brought my father to new levels of paranoia.
A while passed with the feeling of being watched lessening and the sound of objects being thrown and dropped increased until it started to fade, as well. I was relieved, at first, because while I may be a no-nonsense type and was amused at the sounds, it was nice to have the house back to normal.
Yeah. That didn't last long.
As the sounds seemed ready to cease altogether, the... "presence," I guess I'll call it, seemed to target me again. When I was alone at home, which was actually quite often, I would hear the sound of  footsteps in the hall, moving towards the end opposite that of the kitchen. The kitchen was on one end and the other end had the bathroom on the right, the second bedroom (my father's) on the left, and less well-known, an attic entrance up above. Until this point, I had been sleeping in my dad's room because we slept at opposite times, he was at work, and he has more pillows than any unmarried man should rightly own. The feeling of being watched had come back, however, and though it originated only in the hall, this time, there is no doorknob in my dad's door. Instead, there's a nice, gaping hole where a doorknob should be. Also, having footsteps sound out up the hall until they stop right outside your door, when you're home alone, is beyond creepy.
Needless to say, going to the bathroom was now an event that happened, when possible, when Dad was home because that was the only time the footsteps didn't sound out.
Dad was aware of this, peripherally. When he got home, I ran into the bathroom. And I'd make him wait to leave until I was done. He started ignoring my request that he wait to leave until I was done. This lasted maybe a week because within a week, there was a particularly memorable time where slow, steady footsteps started moving down the hall while I was in the bathroom. I grabbed my phone and called Dad. I asked him if he was home, and annoyed, he answered snidely that he wasn't. He asked why I'd asked, and I told him I'd heard someone walk down the hall. He came home immediately because he thought maybe someone had broken in, but when he found no one, he contemplated aloud if they'd left. Knowing that his explanation was a complete fabrication to sooth his own mind, I snorted and said something to the effect of, "No, it was the ghost. Again." I then told him point-blank that the door wasn't busted in, the windows weren't busted in, all the windows were locked, and the footsteps had been clear as day. I went further and informed him that he would start taking this seriously because I was not lying, I was not being dramatic, and I was rather furious that he would get so freaked out at being alone at home and then leave me alone for all but a few hours of the day. With some reluctance, he conceded.
A week or two after that, I sucked it up and stood in front of the hall. "Look," I said, "I'm sorry. I don't know why you're here, but you're kind of freaking me and Dad out, and I'd like it if you left off, a bit. At least stop the creepy footsteps down the hall thing." I believe I also told it that my friends and I often got the feeling of being watched, and we didn't like that much. After that, it let up. There were absolutely no more sounds of footsteps down the hall. Sometimes, there was a noise like something falling in the kitchen, but never when Dad was there. My friends would stay the night more than once. I still sometimes get the feeling I'm being watched, but it's pretty rare. Things resolved themselves pretty quickly when I decided to act in the way I am best known for.

First Post
 Um... So bear with me. I'm certainly not going to be posting any stories soon. I've decided that I'm going to wait until I finish a story to post it. Rants...? Well... I suppose those will probably show up from time to time. Along with curious musings. Maybe a few memories from my childhood... I'll try to keep everything as organized as possible, but I'm not used to LJ, so I'll probably run into a lot of confusion. So--here it is.

I was raised by two very opposite people at irregular intervals, so I am a mix of many quirks including: shy, demanding, selfish, nice, sarcastic, honest, etc.

Most of my posted stories (if not all) will center around slash. If you don't like that... Well, if you don't like that, I honestly don't know how you got to my journal. But you should probably avoid my stories, if that is you.

I'm opinionated--highly. This doesn't mean that I'll shove my beliefs in your face (and I'm going to be vague enough not to even NAME my beliefs unless asked), but that also means that if you insist on trying to convert me, I'll probably get rude. Most of the adults I grew up around were bible-thumpers. If they didn't convert me (and they were my FAMILY), your chances are... well... not good.

I grew up in the midwest. Middle of nowhere midwest. This, unfortunately, means that I have absolutely no diplomacy when it comes to other cultures or races. So I'm going to say this upfront. I'm not racist. I have nothing against other religions. I am also secluded enough that I can make it seem like I AM racist or that I am against your religion. Please take a moment to breathe deeply, should I offend you, and tell me exactly what I said and how it was offensive. If you don't do that, I'll have no idea I offended you and I will continue to do so. If it helps, make the automatic assumption that I did not mean it the way it came out. Because I almost certainly didn't, if it's THAT rude.

That said--if you offend me and either meant to or take the perpetual "why would you take it that way?" line, I will get snarky. I will likely say things that are pretty cruel. The line at the top of my journal is TRUE. I hate people. But I usually like individuals. My father calls me "wench" and yes, I have asked him to stop. He says, "If you take it offensively, that's your issue, not mine." So. If you do that, I will verbally eviscerate you.

Thank you for your time. I hope you enjoy what I write!


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